The Climb
by MilesAboveFantasy
Summary: Extension of the scene where Hunter is alone, terrified by his thoughts in 2x02.


**The Climb**

Hot, fiery tears rolled down his face without cessation; the flow never faltered, the fountain never dried, and his eyes didn't stop spewing the caustic thoughts that burned into his face like acid.

He wanted to claw his eyes out to stop the tears, and to scratch the skin away that couldn't stop burning, but he kept his hands down at his waist to be safe – tucked into his pants for warmth in the icy room, but also to lock his hands away by his own accord. He knew the moment his fingers approached his eyes to stop the painful torrents that he would be locked away for good. His arms would be strapped to his side and his ankles painfully bound to the point of friction, and he would be locked so deep in this facility that not even the god he didn't believe in would ever hear him scream for justice.

But Hunter Hollingsworth was smarter than that. It was something he often prided himself on. He was raid leader in Realm of Doom, he was team captain of his school competitive team, he was a straight A student, and he regularly manipulated his siblings into cleaning his room – spending an hour or two with them was well worth the price.

Hunter was smart – he didn't doubt that for a moment – but for the first time, he felt outmatched. Freedom eluded him. There was a steel door between him and the outside, and then multiple guards, nurses, cameras, and at least 3 other layers of doors. But, where would he go?

Hunter felt a roar tear out of his chest and into the silence of the room at the thought. He was defeated.

 _ **I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy.**_

Everyone thought he was crazy. That brute called him a psycho, and Yael called him a sociopath. His mother told him he needed to apologize. Miles told him that he needed help.

 _ **I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. Who cares if I want to hurt them? They did something wrong. They were only going to get what they deserved.**_

But Miles wanted him to be better… and he wouldn't think about what better meant. Better meant that there was something wrong with him.

 _ **And I'm not crazy.**_

" _You can't do something crazy every time you're upset_ ," Miles had said the day before.

 _ **But even my brother thinks I am.**_

His eyes fell closed for a moment over the acid that rested by surface tension over his pupils, and now he was back in the car. His fingers gripped the wheel with anger, his head throbbed with a pain he couldn't process and it dripped with a warmth that clouded his vision in red, and he felt a torn laugh heave out of his chest. He had been so happy that he found a way to make Miles care.

A remnant of that torn laugh manifested in his lungs now, and it came out as a sob that left his every bronchi feeling raw. He heard his own laugh echoing through the room like a cat dying in his ear. The room felt so small, and he reached for the ceiling that felt like it was two feet away and found nothing but air – air was freedom and it was all around him, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything but his own rage.

 _ **My brother thinks I'm crazy.**_

 _"I don't think you're crazy,"_ his therapist had said. Damn lies. Her next words told him what she really thought. " _Hunter, do you think this is a normal response?_ "

 _ **I'm not crazy.**_

A twitch shook his body to a full convulsion as he fought the thought of every movie he had ever seen – if he were to see this behavior in a movie, he would mock that portrayal as crazy.

 _ **I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. No one is going to make fun of me. I'm not crazy. They deserved to die.**_

His head was splitting in a way he had never felt before, and he just wanted to sleep. Normally, the ability to stay up all night was an asset for his gaming, but now he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and forget his suffering.

 _ **It's not fair. It's not fair. I shouldn't be in here. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy.**_

"I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy."

His thought became words, and he words became sobs. He let the sobs out as watery heaves from his diaphragm and dry, gritty ones from his the desert near his heart. No one would hear him cry. No one would hear him scream, so he did.

"I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm. Not. Crazy," he cried at louder and louder volumes until he could no longer refuse to hear to hear the pathetic dying sounds of a lost soul.

He would never hurt anyone he loved – but even he knew that was a lie as he felt his heart ripped from his chest with such force that he wanted to throw up. He was paralyzed as he was forced to relive his memories of pushing Yael to the ground and watching her stare at him with horror stained eyes. He recalled the feelings of the ice-cold gun in his hand. Now that cold reminded him of torture. Of this room. Of his loneliness.

He was alone. He had no one. He would probably end up hurting them anyway. He just wanted to sleep and have a moment not to hate himself.

 _ **Only crazy people hurt those they love.**_

He wanted to forget the world around him so badly, and sleep was the only way he could forget if even for a mere moment. He tried to move, and a pathetic whimper was the only action his body could muster. But rage was different. It was a world he bathed in for as long as he could remember, so he tapped into it and screamed. In his minds eyes he could feel his lungs tear and he wouldn't be surprised if coughed up blood.

But he wouldn't. His mind was rarely reliable these days it seemed.

 _ **I just want to be at home.**_

He tried to peel himself out of bed, and it was slow going. It was liked he was sowed into the mattress – every pore with a fine thread knit into him like the capillaries under his skin. He hissed as he tried to sit up with paralyzed muscles, and his skin flared with imaginary fire as he ripped himself from his bed with a roar.

Before he knew it, he was at the door to his room screaming. "Help! Somebody help me! I need help!" he cried. He didn't care how pathetic he sounded. He was already rock bottom.

He doctor approached the door, and he almost wondered why she was still here before realized that he had no idea what time of day it was. It could be three o'clock in the afternoon and here he was crying to… what was he crying for?

Everything. He was lonely, he was locked up, and the walls were ever closing in around him. He was crazy.

 _ **I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy.**_

"Help," he whimpered, turning his dead eyes as best he could to his doctor. "Make these feelings go away."

His doctor spoke through the bars in the door. "If you want to talk about your feelings, you can come out here and speak. We want to help you Hunter, but we need you to realize something is wrong, and do your very best not to give into your rage."

"No," Hunter retaliated. "No. No. I don't want to talk, I want to sleep. I want these thoughts to go away!" He felt his voice crack at the last word into a rasping whiz. His doctor didn't budge, and he did the one thing he didn't think he would ever do. He twisted his lips into a frown, and pushed his eyebrows down into something resembling Frankie's famous puppy-dog eyes, but it backfired by the looked on his doctor's face.

He felt burning on his cheeks, and he realized the must be as pink as… well, something that was pink. He had no time to design a metaphor, much less determine if the heated-pink was a blush or tear-stricken scars.

"Please," he cried. "Give me medicine. A sedative. Let me sleep. I can't take this. I just want to sleep. I just want to…" he stopped himself.

 _ **I just want to die.**_

He stopped himself from speaking the words that would have him strapped to what might as well be an electric chair – restrained in such a way that was as void of electric current as it was freedom. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take that. It took every ounce of his energy to remain strong and not to bang his head against the door to knock himself out. Freedom was his only hope, his only goal. He needed to see Yael. He needed to prove to his brother that he wasn't cra… that he wasn't a harm to himself or others. That he was good enough to be a little brother.

"Hunter," his doctor said. "You need to think about the things that haunt you. Please. For your mother. Your brother and sister. For this girl you care for so much. For yourself. We want you to be able to live a happy life, Hunter, but you can't do that when you lash out at everything."

"I do, I promise, please, just please, help me sleep, just this once and I'll work with you, please, don't make me go back to bed alone…" Hunter sputtered without pause for breath, and would have said more but there was no more begging he could muster short of falling to the floor and begging.

"I will see," his doctor promised, before turning away.

"Wait!" Hunter croaked towards her back. "I promise. I do. I want to get better. I want to beat this. I don't want to hurt anyone. I l-love them. I…I… just please, help me."


End file.
